Le Soleil
by mr. eames
Summary: Evey misses the outside world. Oneshot. V/Evey. Movieverse.


**Le Soleil  
**_The Sunshine_

**A/N**: This is just a oneshot between Evey and V, meant to be cute. It's based on the movie, since I haven't had the pleasure to completely read the GN. Also, there's some French in here, but all of it is translated for you throughout, as Evey doesn't know French. And, of course, I don't own V for Vendetta, as a disclaimer.

The sun never shines in this underground place. I would not call it a prison. The walls are decorated with masterpieces, and food is prepared for me in the finest of ways. Regardless, I am a captive. It is not him who keeps me here, in all honesty. I know that if I were to leave, he would not hurt me, I do not think he could. For some reason, and even I cannot fully explain why, but I see no reason to leave.

Yet there is no sun. Can I live fully without the sun? Can any person? Ah, always, I forget. V can live without the solar rays on his skin, he doesn't need it. Oh, V, does he really need anything? He makes food for me, but I never see him eat. The artworks that decorate the walls are hardly necessity. There is no doubt that he enjoys many things, but even I cannot say that he requires these things, as a normal person does.

What does V require then? I can't say for sure. Freedom, I believe, is something he wants. There's no denying the fact that the one thing V wants, more than anything, is a society free from government. Sometimes I think that he needs me, otherwise why would he keep me around? Could there be any other reason?

Here we are, sitting next to one another on the couch. The Count of Monte Cristo is playing, and V is watching intently. I cannot count the number of times we have watched this in the short time that I have been here. By now the story is engraved in my mind. No longer do I watch the movie, instead I watch V.

He is enthused by the movie, I can tell. Enraptured in the storyline, I cannot see his face of course, but his body language says it all. It is like he's an eager child, leaning forward, his gloved hands on his knees. Tense, he appears to be tense, I see, nervous like he doesn't know what is going to happen next. Impossible, seeing he has seen the movie at least a hundred times more than I have. He knows every inch of this movie, yet he still laughs at all the right moments, and mumbles worries when things look desperate.

"Quelle est la matière, mon cher?" V's voice startles me, and I look up to see him looking towards me. His voice is humorous, he knows I don't understand French. The look in my eyes is of confusion, and he sees that. His voice softens as he translates: "What is wrong, my dear?"

Somehow he knows. I am quite sure he wasn't even watching me, and yet he knows that I am upset. Somehow he knows. V always knows. "It's nothing," I say, quite unconvincing. "It really is."

"Nothing is ever nothing," V says, in that philosophical way I have come to know as normality. His tone is no longer humorous, but I can't quite say what the inflection I hear now is. Concern would be my first guess, but it goes against everything I know about him, to label it as a caring emotion in this circumstance. "Tell me what's wrong, Evey."

V saying my name affects me so. It is a rare event when he does, and for some reason I cherish it so. The affection with which he says my name now is undeniable, even I hear can hear how he says it. "Oh, V," I say, shaking my head. "I just…well, I miss it." These words escape my mouth so quietly. In a normal setting, on a normal street, surrounded by people, the words would not be audible at all. Here, in this secluded part of the world, they are all you can hear. Background noise is the light clashing of swords from the TV.

It is times like these where I wish truly to see V's face. Of course I am curious always as to whom he is, what he looks like. But you do not realize how much a person's face can tell you until you are unable to see it. "What do you miss?" he says. His voice is a mockery of caring, laced with hurt. "The outside world?" There is no attempt to be caring here, all that I hear is the voice of a lonely man, scared to lose the one person he has.

I feel now that he does not care for me. I cannot say for sure that he doesn't, but he does not show it in the least. My impression as of right now is that I am an object. A play thing that he had once believed he controlled, but now had discovered possessed free-will, an attribute that scared him. Worst of he makes me feel selfish, too proud of my worldly possessions, all too human.

Humanity is not allowed to exist here. It is one thing I am sure of. Or at least, the attributes of humanity that V finds to be useless. The things he deems are not needed. All I am expected to do down here are simple. They are the good parts of life, I am protected from all the others. "Yes," I say, "yes, I miss the outside world. I miss the sun, and the people. I miss all the good things and the bad things in the world, because without both life is a waste. You're just living in a dream world if you omit one or the other. Truly living encompasses both of those things." I pause, I think, I cannot tell what V is thinking, and the words that leave my mouth are the ones I have wanted to say for days. Rehearsing them with no intention of ever using them, and now I am. "I miss the sun, V. I miss the sun." My voice is reduced to a whisper, oh I'll admit it sounds whiny, and I know he can see my face, and I know what it looks like. Eyes wide, watery and red, my mouth is pursed as I bite down on my bottom lip and look away.

The television is blank; the movie must have ended some time during our talk. Neither of us noticed this fact. Suddenly I am startled, as I feel V's gloved hand on mine. "Do you really want to see the sun, Evey?" he asks. I look to his hand first, my eyes lingering for a minute, then, slowly, I raise my face to look upon his. And, oh, how I forget. Only a mask looks back at me. I cannot speak, but I nod.

Sunlight is better than I remember it. My skin is warm to the touch, as I wrap my arms around myself, sighing, my eyes closed. Opening them, tentatively, I wince, as the light shocks me. Intense and bright like I do not remember. Still, it is a sensation I cherish, as it has been so long since I have had the warmth on my cheeks, too long. Slowly I fully open my eyes, and what I see makes me bring my hand to my mouth. The world is still going on. Distantly, I can see the sun setting, but the city still goes on. I know it is near curfew, but that is an hour or so away yet. How long have I entertained the idea that a world I am not in must have stopped?

My hand is shaking, I realize. The world is still going on. Without me, the world is still going on. The sun still shines every morning and sets every night. As humans we do not fully grasp the concept that we are not needed for the world to function. Without our impact on the world the world will still go on, it will never cease to exist until nature decides it will. In all actuality we have no choice in the end. There is only one thing we can ever count on.

Tears have been falling over my face, and I turn to see V, standing in the entrance to the stairs. "Êtes-vous prêt à aller à l'intérieur?" he asks, then proceeds, "Ou avez-vous choisi ceci?" This time I can understand what he says. Language is not a barrier at this moment, it is only a thing invented by man.

'_Are you ready to go inside? Or do you choose this?_'

"I want to go home," I tell him, my voice stronger than before, sure of this choice. I take one last look at the sunlight. Home has taken on a different meaning. Home is now that strange place where V lives. I know in the way he watches over me that he does care, regardless of anything he says or does, this tells me all I need to know. Towards the stairs, I walk, never glancing back, feeling the sun on my back.

If I could see V's face at this moment I am almost certain he would be smiling. His next words are spoken in such a way that he tells me this fact without meaning to. "Après vous," he says. "After you." The angry tone is gone from his voice, the hurt is absent from his tone, and I hope to never hear either one again, as I descend back down, leaving the sun to guard over the world I used to call my home.

All we can count on is sunshine. I have found mine in a man who calls himself V.


End file.
